


Tokens and Favors

by plotweaver



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, These two dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 02:41:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10630464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plotweaver/pseuds/plotweaver
Summary: The first festival after the Battle of the Five Armies is upon Erebor. In the tournaments of Men, it is custom for the competitors to wear the favors of their beloved. Dwarves have other customs...





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to be writing stuff for Camp NaNo today. This happened instead. Whoops.
> 
> This work is now available in Czech! It was translated by the lovely Lumir and you should check it out [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10822320)

“Bilbo!”

It had taken Bilbo some time to know the halls of Erebor, but since the Battle of the Five Armies had been rightfully won, he had nothing but time. He had Bag End, of course, but that was not going anywhere. He and the company had rushed all over Middle Earth to win back Erebor, and now that the spoils of the journey were upon him, Bilbo saw no issue with taking his time on the return journey.

“Bilbo, there you are!”

It never helped that whenever Bilbo saw Thorin’s smile - so rare on the journey here, but so frequent now that his home had been secured - all thoughts of the Shire vanished from Bilbo’s mind. 

“Bilbo!”

So Bilbo woke each morning and walked the halls of the great dwarf kingdom until he knew them by memory. Once he knew the slopes and ridges of the cool stone beneath his feet better than the buttons on his own vest, he began to carry books with him on occasion. He’d read while taking his morning walks, finding both activities relaxing. The dwarves didn’t seem to mind, even if they found the practice rather odd. They did not stop to chat about this and that the way hobbits did, but they simply let him walk and read in peace.

“Bilbo, wait!”

It was on one of these walks that Bilbo found his way obstructed by a rather solid form. A pair of hands reached out to steady Bilbo, one on each shoulder, when he stumbled. The hands withdrew as quickly as they had come. Bilbo immediately smiled when he saw that it was Thorin before him. 

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” Thorin said. “I did call your name several times.”

Thorin’s eyes darted over Bilbo, seemingly searching for something. On the journey, Thorin had been a dwarf of little words, not one of them being “sorry.” This had changed after the dragon sickness. His first words to Bilbo after the spell of the gold had worn off were ones of penance, nevermind the fact that his was bleeding out onto the snow. Since then, Thorin spoke to Bilbo every day, often seeking him out to do so. Bilbo often got the impression that Thorin chose his words carefully around him, but Bilbo didn’t mind. Bilbo had nothing but time for the one true king to find the nerve to speak plain to him, as only the very best of friends do.

“The fault was mine,” Bilbo said. “I’ve been rather absorbed in this book lately. Can’t seem to put it down.” 

“You’ll have to tell me about it at the feast tonight. Will you join me at my table?” 

Bilbo smiled even wider. Thorin always asked for Bilbo to join his table. The answer was always yes. Bilbo wondered why Thorin even bothered asking after the third time. 

Another dwarf passed them, a little too closely to be considered polite. Then another. Bilbo looked around and realized that the path they were on, normally calm at this hour, was filled with dwarrows, all hurrying in every which direction. Bilbo belatedly realized that Thorin had mentioned a “feast” rather than dinner.

“The festival - the one that Bofur was telling me about last week - it’s happening now?” Bilbo inwardly cringed at his own question. It was true that living in the mountain had altered his perspective on the passage of time, but such an oversight as to not recognize an upcoming event of this magnitude was careless. 

“Yes,” Thorin said, his eyes locked on Bilbo despite the bustle around them. “It is one of our smaller festivals,” he added, after a moment. With a shock, Bilbo realized that Thorin was attempting to comfort him. He must have sensed Bilbo’s distress about the date and was now trying to mitigate it by lessening the obvious importance of the festival. 

“I am very much looking forward to it,” Bilbo said earnestly. 

Thorin’s eyebrows lifted. “That is well,” he said, “because I have something else to ask of you.” 

Bilbo nodded. After the battle, Thorin had not asked anything of Bilbo except to eat with him. He did not ask Bilbo to stay, but still provided him with every comfort Erebor had to offer. He did not ask Bilbo to aid in the restoration, but Bilbo saw him grinning openly every time he offered his hobbit knowhow on the mountain’s soil. Bilbo could not even begin to speculate what Thorin meant to ask him, but Bilbo knew, no matter what the request was, he could deny Thorin nothing.

Thorin had given him so much. An adventure, a purpose, courage. Once his gruff exterior of distrust had faded, Thorin had shown Bilbo nothing but kindness and gentleness: sweet smiles and light touches that Bilbo could never forget. 

It was with these gestures in mind that Bilbo found himself saying, “Anything. Name it, and it’s yours.” 

Thorin looked at the ground, and if Bilbo didn’t know any better, he’d say that King of Erebor was sheepish.

“I know that you do not look well on physical displays of violence-”

_Sweet Yavanna, what is he going to ask?_

“-but it is tradition for the festival to begin on the morrow with a tournament of sorts,” Thorin continued, speaking fast. “No doubt that, to you, it would look like a common brawl, but it is an ancient form of combat amongst dwarrows, studied by those who wish to become soldiers from a very young age-”

“Thorin, are you asking me to participate in this tournament?” Bilbo asked, desperate to keep any hint of fear and shock from his voice.

“No!” Thorin said. He stepped toward Bilbo, eyes wide. “I would never ask… Never would I put you in danger.” He reached into a pocket on his tunic. “I merely wanted to ask that you attend my first bout - the king always takes part in the tournament - and that you wear this.”

From his pocket, Thorin pulled out a small, yet intricately carved bead and a ribbon. Both were deep blue, the same color that Thorin had taken to wearing during the restoration. The color of the line of Durin. 

“They’re for a simple braid in your hair,” Thorin said to the ground. “It’s not much. But I thought it might help you feel more of a part of the festivities. And,” Thorin paused, took a breath, “if you wanted to show your favor for someone in the tournament-”

Bilbo placed a hand atop the hand in which Thorin held the bead and ribbon.

“It would be an honor to wear these tokens in my hair.”

Thorin looked up at Bilbo. A tentative smile came across the king’s lips. 

“Although,” Bilbo said, “I do not know how to…” He gestured from the bead to his hair.

“I’ll weave the braid tonight after the feast,” Thorin said. He rested his other hand on Bilbo’s and squeezed gently. “Thank you, Bilbo.” 

Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd of his brethren. 

Bilbo stood there a moment, oblivious to everything around him. Nothing was worth noticing beyond the fact that Thorin would place a braid in his hair that night. Bilbo found himself imagining what that might feel like. Thorin’s fingers running through his hair, the plaits of the braid lightly tugging at his scalp, the bead resting gently on the side of his face.

Bilbo shook his head and began walking through the crowd. Tonight’s feast now seemed too far away, and Bilbo was now somehow sure that it would last too long.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. I wrote this super subtle. I live for these little awkward but sweet moments between them, and I hope some of you do, too. 
> 
> If I could bribe you to leave comments, I would. But instead, I can only beg.


End file.
